


It Will Come Back

by jentaro



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Author is NB, M/M, Vaginal Sex, and i know nobody is complaining but HELLO?, because i can't write a fucking fic without sex anymore i guess..., honestly i'm only ever gonna write transmasc nb jaskier, in a classic jen move this was supposed to be a drabble and it's over 9k, noah fence but i'm objectively correct, these bitches gay, title from a hozier song because of course i did, trans jaskier rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jentaro/pseuds/jentaro
Summary: twitter request prompt! "Jaskier drags his Witcher to a flower festival in one of the towns they stop at—cuteness ensues"—Jaskier has never had an ounce of chill in his life, and that's everyone else's problem.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 201
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	It Will Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> i asked for drabble prompts on twitter and apparently when i ask for a drabble prompt i really mean a prompt that's going to make me write over 9k words, so uhhhhh, there's that. it's only like sort of edited, so if anyone sees anything weird or any wild errors please let me know!!! it might especially be weird in the beginning because i only intended like a couple hundred words and i gave up on fixing it SHRUG
> 
> thanks for the prompt @KA_Gratata on twitter!!! 
> 
> lots of fluff, and like it's me we're talking about so there's obviously smut in there too ;^)

Really, the last place Jaskier had expected to run into another witcher was in Tridam, just over the line of Redania—by complete and utter accident, too. He recognizes Eskel instantly, though he supposes it’s hard not to with the witcher standing right in front of the notice board in town. The man is distinctive enough on his own even without the twin swords being a giveaway. The first time he had met Eskel had been a weird happenstance anyway; Jaskier had met up with Geralt in Vattweir in Aedirn by accident in the first place. Jaskier was on his way to Montecalvo, Geralt on his way somewhere west, but he had never been a man of words, so at the time, Jaskier accepted the vague answer without much fuss.

Either way, they had met up with Eskel somewhere between Hagge and Murivel. It was just before they were about to cross the Pontar that a split in the road that would have led to Biłay Most instead spit a witcher out of its mouth and into their direction. Eskel had been on his way to Hagge to seek out a contract, one that Geralt had done just the previous day, having already collected on the posting. So, they had traveled together for a few glorious days.

Eskel, for one, tolerated Jaskier’s idle chatter—the strumming of his lute and midair composing to hopefully remember later when he had a chance to write things down, too. Muttering and humming as he went about mentally (and sloppily) editing words as he would sing them, trying to pick the perfect phrasing at different speeds. Where Geralt might ride ahead to get away from his efforts to stay ahead of the best bard on the continent curve with fresh ballads to make kings quiver about creatures that would swarm the lands if not for kind witchers—Jaskier’s line of thought has to take a breath on that, actually—where Geralt might ride ahead, Eskel kept his horse walking at a slow, steady pace by him without complaint. The witcher had even engaged in conversation with him after making camp, a man of far more words than Geralt, though not as many as he would like. After a couple of days, they had split up when Jaskier went north and his witcher companions headed to the east.

Now though, looking at Eskel, he wonders what this witcher is doing here, considering the close proximity to Blaviken. Perhaps it’s entirely none of his business, but Jaskier still finds himself walking toward his friend (of course they’re friends, one does not travel with a witcher unless they are friends, no matter _what_ Geralt may say, and two nights around a fire making Eskel laugh counts as friendship). He makes sure to announce his arrival verbally with, “Sir witcher, what a surprise to see you here!”

Eskel stiffens for just a moment before turning to face Jaskier, confused at first but a grin blooming on his face once he recognizes him. “Jaskier,” he gets in greeting, a nod of the witcher’s head. “I would rather not be here at all, but I should say it’s surprising to see you this far north.”

Having just gotten into town himself this late in the evening, Jaskier manages to convince Eskel to at least go to the tavern with him to get dinner, and they spend the evening catching up. Jaskier learns that a contract had taken him to Redania, a stingy alderman in Crinfrid withholding payment with nothing to be done about it now—though he assures Eskel that had he been there, he would have ‘negotiated’ with him to get the witcher his fair bounty.

It’s when they have finished their plates and they’re on their third tankard of ale each that Jaskier asks, “So where are you headed from here?”

Eskel takes a moment to think about it, presumably, before he answers, “Not sure, was hoping that there’d’ve been something new posted to the noticeboard here…”

Where Jaskier had found him, of course. “In front of which I subsequently interrupted your slim pickings, by the sound of it. I’m headed to Yspaden if you aren’t adverse to accompanying me, see if we can’t get you some more coin while we’re at it.” A loose invitation that he half expects Eskel to say no to, but he _must_ be well-warned by Geralt that Jaskier is nothing if not persistent and ready to argue and follow him anyway, because he nods his head with a half pushed out breath of a laugh.

“If you’re sure, bard.”

“Of _course_ I am. Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want the company.” That seems to take the witcher aback by the tilt of his head, as if Jaskier only wanting a travel companion rather than a bodyguard is a strange concept. One that he doesn’t bring up since he is also sure Geralt has mentioned he’s not _completely_ helpless in dangerous situations. At least, he hopes his friend has anything positive to say about him when he winters with his pack. 

“I’m ready to head out when you are, then,” Eskel says, but looks confused when Jaskier shakes his head.

“I have a room already for the night, and the only steps I want to take are upstairs and to bed. We can leave in the morning; have you already stabled Scorpion for the night, or shall I go pay the extra?” Putting the key to the room down on the table between them, Jaskier continues, “It’s the last room on the left, no bath though, some bastard broke the tub apparently last week and innkeeper’s waiting for the new one to be made. There is a bucket of water if you need to clean up.” Jaskier is well-versed in what a witcher’s routine becomes when he has the chance at a warm bath and a dry bed without being turned away. A bucket of lukewarm water will do just as nicely.

“I—”

“Don’t even start, I _won’t_ be taking no for an answer. I’m already standing up to go to the stable and you _can’t_ stop me, dear witcher, not in a hundred years.” Narrating his intentions and movements seems to go over well, rather, better than with his other grumpy companion who barely spares a begrudgingly fond smirk. Eskel chuckles with his whole chest in the movement, which only makes Jaskier grin harder at him as he leaves the tavern.

The stables are quiet enough, Jaskier paying the hand to keep Scorpion fed and safe for the night, and hopefully a good brushing from the lad a few stalls away doing the same to another horse. He makes his way back to the inn, stopping to pay for a pitcher of ale and two mugs to bring upstairs with him. When he is at the door to the room, he knocks first and announces that he is back as a courtesy, waiting a few moments before opening the door just in case. His friend is decent with just his shirt and trousers on, though the missing grime from his skin tells him that he’d taken advantage of the water bucket and gotten clean. Eskel’s armor is hanging half in his lap as he uses the rag to wash off the leather. 

“Scorpion is set for the night, brought up some ale, and before you ask the bed _is_ big enough for two so I won’t accept you trying to stretch out on the floor, I can keep well to myself.” He does his best to tug his boots off one-handed without spilling a pitcher of ale so he doesn’t track any dirt into the room, and it is a _resounding_ success. Except for the bit that splashes onto the floor on one small stumble, but it’s not enough to be missed. With his boots off, the pitcher and mugs go on the table so he can shake his arm from the small strain, and then he pours Eskel a mug, and then himself. “Besides, you left your bedroll with your horse, I won’t hear any insisting that you go get it. I’ll take the wall.” 

A tactical move that would be insisted upon in the event someone broke into their room during the night for any number of reasons, Eskel would be closest to the door to better react. Speaking of which, Jaskier goes over to lock the door, seeing that the key is hanging up on a peg next to the frame lest they lose track of it. After that, Jaskier makes himself comfortable at the table, notebook out and scratching away at his latest ballad. He can’t quite get the words right, humming quietly and dropping chords along with the words skipping around in his head.

He is distracted, too, with thoughts of their impending and likely brief companionship. The liberties that Eskel is allowing Jaskier are a bit bewildering, but he supposes that they had gotten on pretty well that time, and he had been just as pushy about comfort then as he is now. Even if they hadn’t stopped at an inn that time, Jaskier had insisted on alleviating the stress of setting up camp by doing the mundane tasks per usual to the point where he had _physically_ shooed the witcher away when he’d attempted to set up the wood for their fire. 

“Stuck on the words?”

Jaskier picks his head up from his book, realizing now that more and more scratchings through his prose are on the page than not. “I suppose I am… Can’t get it quite right.”

“Would it help to sing it out? I don’t mind,” Eskel says as he picks up his armor to inspect that it has been washed off of as much of the gore that he can get to.

Oh and if _that_ isn’t the praise of his lifetime, coming from the mouth of a _witcher_ no less. Jaskier could walk on _air_ for how his heart beats in his chest. “Is it alright if I grab my lute?” The night is still young enough that Jaskier isn’t sleepy, and he is well aware that Eskel will most likely be up for a while tending to his armor and weapons, perhaps a bit of potion making if he has the ingredients to replenish what he is running low on.

“A little music never hurts.”

“I knew I liked you Eskel, appreciator of the arts,” Jaskier says as he gets up and grabs his case. It does catch him off guard that Eskel truly does not mind, and for a moment it makes him wish Geralt were more loose-lipped with compliments. But, these are two different men, Jaskier is well aware. And he _knows_ Geralt is hiding behind his rough and tough wolf exterior, so he doesn’t necessarily hold it against him. 

It is still nice to get a compliment all the same.

The rest of the evening is filled with the soft sounds of Jaskier plucking away at the strings of his lute, alternating between humming chords and singing the words that go along with his progressions. Like this, he has a much easier time composing, and there is far less wasted space on his book pages. By the time his eyelids get heavy, Eskel is just about finished with taking stock of his supplies, which Jaskier had taken the liberty of putting his lute away to help with when his composing tapered off. Between them, there is a list of ingredients Eskel will have to find within the next few towns, and Jaskier has promised (threatened) to help him obtain.

They sleep in their pre-agreed upon arrangement, that is, Jaskier takes the wall as he does every time he is with a witcher, though this one will be a new experience. Jaskier turns in early enough that it leaves Eskel to stoke the fire in the small hearth to stave off the chill outside. Even though it is late spring, the chill this far north is still lingering, and the wind does howl outside the covered window. 

When Eskel does come to bed, the heavy blanket is pushed toward Jaskier, to which he sighs out ‘stubborn witcher’ quiet enough to not be harsh on sensitive ears, but with the intent of chiding him. Turning away from the wall and onto his stomach, it allows him to lift the blanket and throw it at _least_ half over Eskel before he turns back and adjusts the pillow under his head. There is of course no way to tell if Eskel hadn't shoved the blanket off immediately since Jaskier passes out rather quickly and wakes up in the morning to an empty bed. 

The spot next to him is still warm though when he reaches out a tentative hand on the sheets without looking; Jaskier rolls into the space, face-down and sinking into the warmth. The pillow smells stale first and foremost, but with a night of being rested against, it vaguely smells of sweat and the likely permanent musk that follows a witcher who gets little opportunity to properly bathe. It isn’t unpleasant, though, and he’s guessing it’s because of the quick rag bath Jaskier had suggested the previous night. The next inn they find themselves in though, he will see to Eskel getting a bath.

Settling in and dozing, Jaskier isn’t sure how much time passes until he is being shaken lightly awake from where he is wrapped in his blanket cocoon. “Time to get up, bard.”

“Mmm, okay. Gimme a minute,” Jaskier ends up muttering with his eyes closed, knowing he can’t push his luck by asking for five minutes like he can with Geralt. A witcher must still walk the path, and he is not under the impression that Eskel couldn’t very well just up and leave if Jaskier was inconvenient enough about waking up. 

He takes longer than a minute. Actually, Jaskier ends up falling asleep again with his arms around the pillow and his face pressed firmly into it, only waking up again when the bed dips and Eskel more firmly shakes him awake. Jaskier peeks out from behind the pillow to see Eskel looking at him respectfully, or at least, with a shadow of fondness that he _knows_ is not unique to Geralt’s contrived exasperation concerning him. “Has it really been a minute?”

“And more, so if you don't get up, you’re not getting anything to eat before we hit the road,” Eskel says in what is hopefully jest, patting him on the shoulder a few times. 

“Wouldn't be the first time a witcher let me starve for making him late to setting out,” Jaskier says, also in jest. Mostly. He still usually is able to grab something when he makes Geralt have to dawdle, but it gets Jaskier sitting up finally while Eskel looks at him very deliberately. “Next time you can drag me out of bed and stand me up, I’ll wake up quick.” Which Geralt has also done to him before. 

Eskel shakes his head, and that's the end of it, suiting Jaskier just fine. He puts himself together quick enough, packing up the notebook he had left out the previous night along with his quill and ink pot. One last sweep to make sure nothing is being forgotten, and Jaskier grabs the key to give it back to the owner. He inhales a quick breakfast while Eskel readies Scorpion, and then they are on the road. 

The journey would only be a few days time if they didn’t stop at the handful of villages between the two towns, but as a witcher, Eskel is bound to get sidetracked by monstrous creatures terrorizing people. Jaskier is _more_ than happy to help negotiate with aldermen who are predictably stingy about payment for services rendered. This isn’t _news_ to Jaskier, but to know that the distrust sits deep all the same across the continent for witchers is just as angering no matter who he is traveling with. 

Eskel, for all he is friendly and much more expressive than his brother, is clearly not used to having an advocate which is a _shame_. Lovely in his own right, Eskel seems to not want to bother with giving himself a worse reputation by trying to negotiate fair pay. Jaskier gets his chance to shine, thoroughly disenchanted by miserly townsfolk who will beg a witcher to kill their monster and then spurn him in the next breath.

Usually, Jaskier gets his way—somehow, by some stroke of the inverse of his younger self’s incorrigible luck. Perhaps being the best bard on the continent has something to do with it, but he makes good on his promise to bring Eskel coin. He uses his bardic talents to get them room and board for a night at an inn in a small town about halfway to Yspaden and also makes good on his silent promise to get Eskel a proper bath, giving the man appropriate space to himself while Jaskier spent the evening playing especially bawdy songs for drunkards. But he _is_ pleased to go back upstairs later to Eskel lounging around on the bed reading a book, prompting him to ask him what sorts of books he likes to read.

Eskel had volunteered to do laundry after his bath, the damp clothing still hanging around the room to dry on every available surface, hence why Jaskier finds himself crawling onto the bed next to him for lack of anywhere else to sit. For once, it is nice to have a conversation about something within Jaskier’s sphere of knowledge while he sits up against the wall with a mug of ale in his hands and his legs draped over Eskel’s calves. His witcher friend is similarly leaned up against the headboard holding his Koviran poetry book while he talks, only a little phased by Jaskier doing as he pleases. And when they sleep with Jaskier to the wall and Eskel where he had been the whole time, there is less fuss about blankets and accidental brushing of limbs since the night proves to be chillier than their previous one camped off the road. 

Waking up the next morning is only as awkward as they make it, that is to say, Jaskier wakes up with his face pressed against Eskel’s bicep. He has somehow also managed to wrap his arms completely around Eskel’s arm to keep him in place on accident, and even when he _knows_ Eskel knows he is awake, he doesn’t let go immediately. With his nose pressed into the well-worn fabric of Eskel’s tunic, all he does is murmur a ‘sorry’ and readjust himself into an identical position to fall back asleep. Later, when he wakes up again, Eskel has managed to dislodge him and go about his witcher business, and neither of them mention it.

The _real_ excitement begins when they are about a day’s ride from Yspaden, coming upon a decently sized village in the midst of a spring festival that _immediately_ delights Jaskier. He is, bafflingly enough and at Eskel’s insistence (since the road was at a steeper incline than his own legs would be happy about), riding Scorpion with his witcher friend walking at his side when the sounds of the festival filter down to them. Not that they’re quite in the thick of the mountains yet, but the elevation is noticeable as they make their way to the edge of the village and finally figure out what is going on.

Jaskier might very well have stars in his eyes, looking around at the fences on the main road of the village decorated with flowers. _So_ many different kinds, different shades of color, different meanings weaved together into the crowns upon the heads of every child and maiden, and even weaved into chains resting on the collars of men. There are flowers and there is laughter in the air, food for sale and people with shops set up; it would be regretful not to stop for just a _little_ while. This close to the gorgeous blue sky, the afternoon sun is bright and the clouds are puffy, the floral smell tickling Jaskier’s nose. 

When he finally turns his head to Eskel, he can’t help the smile that has taken up residence on his face getting impossibly deeper when he sees the momentary _softness_. It is rather _unfair_ to see Eskel harden it away immediately, no, that will _not_ do. “Eskel…”

“Jaskier.”

He can recognize a witcher using his ‘no nonsense’ tone. That doesn’t mean that Jaskier will listen, still well aware that at any point, Eskel could pull Jaskier off his stallion and call their temporary travel together over. And yet he _hasn’t_ , even with Jaskier’s other general babbling absurdity that has seen him left in the dust of a horse trail before. It is with that in mind that he makes his decision that he will see his witcher friend have a fun day.

“Just for today, can’t we stay?”

By now, they have come to a stop with Eskel facing the saddle Jaskier is sitting in. He looks outside of his comfort zone, but Jaskier is more than ready to extend his own far enough to hold Eskel within it. 

“Jaskier, I don’t think—” Eskel starts, but he cuts himself off when Jaskier gives him his sad eyes. And he tries again, “These people won’t want a witcher here.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaskier says, softening his own face a touch more. “Please?”

Exasperation, and a degree of silent, inward irritation as if there is something obvious to be said that Jaskier is missing. But he is _not_ missing it, and if Eskel thinks for a moment that Jaskier will entertain _his_ nonsense, then he has another thing coming. Their extended moment of silence turns into a staring contest, and Jaskier _refuses_ to back down to a witcher; Eskel looks away, and Jaskier hums in victory as he nudges Scorpion to get him to walk forward so Jaskier can find the village’s stable. 

“Bard, I didn't say yes!” Eskel calls after him after what no doubt had been the wolf wrestling with himself about whether he should leave Jaskier to his own devices or not. As expected, it had been a short lived argument, his friend catching up to him within moments.

“And I’m already reaching into my coin pouch, _oh_! I can see the stable, and Scorpion keeps walking forward , what _ever_ will I do to stop him?” With a flourish of the back of his hand over his own brow, Jaskier digs into feigning ignorance, “My dear friend, I don't know how to control your horse, _oh no_ , he has a mind of his own. I am utterly helpless to stop his desire to rest for a night and eat hay and oats and that last apple I have in my pack that I’ve been saving for him…” 

Eskel grabs the reins with a sigh that Jaskier drowns out with his laughter, effectively ending their negotiations. Jaskier pays for Scorpion’s stabling for the night, giving him the promised apple while Eskel uses the time to brush him down. Jaskier leaves Eskel to it while he goes to the inn to secure a room for the night—and how lucky to be the last room rented! Their things get locked into the safety of the room for now, pocketing the key and heading back to where he had left his wolf. Jaskier only has enough self-control for Eskel to do one full brushing before he takes the brush and passes it to the stable hand in all of his impatience to drag his friend out into the open air, taking him by the hand.

“Come _on_.”

Overeager and absolutely unconcerned about what he must look like tugging a witcher along with joined hands. He does take Eskel back to the inn to get him out of his armor (at the request that Eskel hold the key in case he needs to come back and after a lengthy half-argument about it), the ridiculous mass of it and the swords being what attracts the most attention. When they step back out into the afternoon sun, Eskel looks like he could be _any_ regular man who lives in the mountains. 

He looks _dashing_. Unfairly handsome with his hair pushed back from his face and in plainclothes, but the twinge of discomfort is _really_ hampering Eskel’s lovely features. And yet, as they walk around now, there is less staring in their direction. Jaskier refuses to pay attention to more than the variety of flowers to be found being sold by the townsfolk, of which there are a _lot_ more than he would expect during the season. Lots of brilliant yellow and dazzling white buds mixed in that usually grow in the early summer. 

Jaskier certainly has grand designs of piecing together a meaningful chain of flowers to hang around Eskel’s neck; he knows without even trying that to place a crown upon his head would be unwelcome, and despite the concept of keeping Eskel his prisoner for the night implies an inherent discomfort, he does not want him to feel alienated. Ending up with an armful of flowers more fit for making a bouquet, he steers Eskel away from people and toward a small flat edge near a small cliff where they can sit relatively unbothered.

His witcher friend relaxes marginally, and Jaskier takes up the air with his chatter while he weaves together a chain made of several different flowers with several different meanings. He wonders if Eskel is versed in the language of flowers as a man who reads poetry. Jaskier cannot discount the idea completely, but he is not about to _ask_.

“I haven’t been to a flower festival in _years_ , you know. The last one must have been a decade ago, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a bigger one, but they’re _fantastic_.” The loose chain is made up first of woolly sunflowers, much smaller and far more delicate than their tall cousins that stand as tall as himself on their own. Bright yellow with a center only a little darker, it is meant to symbolize gentle strength. A gentle flower for a gentle giant of a man. 

“Oxenfurt especially during the summer months when the term has let out, the streets are lined with large bouquets, small parades with horses decorated and with carriages covered in carpets of flowers sewn into attached scaffolding where artisans weave in intricate designs.” Picking up thick stems of throatwort had been a gamble considering they tended to end with many branches of buds that did not make for good small segments usually. This time, he had lucked out, finding just enough to push through the chain and weave the stems together with the others—the soft purplish-blue of the tiny star-blossoms with their even finer delicate shoots springing up from the center of each bud contrasted beautifully with the woolly sunflowers, if Jaskier said so himself. Neglected beauty, and that is _precisely_ what he sees in Eskel. 

“City festivals are fun, but the smaller village festivals are much better, I think.” The next flower to join the chain are the delicate, deep and dark pink stalks of heather; a general statement on beauty and admiration, meant to expel negative energies and bring solitude. “The people are more carefree, happier to set aside their work and have a fun few days appreciating nature.” His fingers work quickly, fully weaving the long, tall stalks with the little buds tightly knit and close to the green into the rest of the chain to make the whole thing less rope-like. A pop of color that he is hoping will be appreciated for how mismatched and flamboyant the assortment seems.

Next he picks up his bundle of daisies to weave through the holes. Jaskier is feeling perhaps a little sentimental since they would separate as soon as they reached Yspaden—daisies to say that he would like this moment to last. Blue-eyed grass blossoms, a soft white and purple mix for healing and emotional release. A batch of yellow cowslip is weaved in next, for Eskel’s grace and yet another statement of beauty to say that he has been charmed completely by his companion. “Just like this village, with their gorgeous variety of flowers. I overheard one of the elder women talk about the dance the ‘young folk’ will be having when the sun starts setting, I will understand if that is not your thing, but _I_ will be participating.”

With that, Jaskier declares his saccharine strand of greenery finished, and he turns fully to Eskel and holds the chain between careful hands. Every movement announces his intention in case the witcher wants to swerve away from his attempt, but he stays stock still where he sits, forearms resting on his thighs while Jaskier gets close enough to place the chain around his neck. He can hear Eskel’s breath catch, and Jaskier wonders for a brief moment if he could get away with stealing a kiss from him. It is daring enough of him to hold Eskel’s cheek, thumb brushing just beneath the lightning strikes of his scars.

“I would like you to join me though, dear witcher. Only if you would like to, that is. If you would rather roam around, I will find you in a little while when my feet get tired.” He doesn’t expect Eskel to make any moves to follow, and Jaskier isn’t disappointed when he is proven right. There is a certain amount of space he must respect, and he is sure that Eskel would much rather check out the other sellers pedaling goods and services other than flowers. When he stands, he dares to lean forward enough to mess up Eskel’s hair with a grin. “I will see you later then, my friend.”

His afternoon is thoroughly enchanting, the dancing starting once the sun is less harsh in everyone’s eyes and sinks behind the clouds hovering around the peaks of the looming mountain far in the distance, to the west in Cryeden. The dance is more of a communal event than anything, and there are more than enough fair maidens to teach him the sweeping moves to it. It is near dizzying how they move in circles that take him around and around the exceedingly trampled grass in an empty plot of land just adjacent to the village. He exchanges flowers with people as his feet move, linking arms with strangers and stumbling over himself as he learns the steps. There are quite a few songs that etch themselves into his mind for later, and rhythmic clapping that he is delighted to bruise his palms with while watching the couples that break off into the open middle to dance sequences that are very obviously practiced. Jaskier, too, ends up being dragged in by a sweet woman around his age to make a grand fool of himself, bowing at the end and laughing along with everyone.

His missing companion reappears after the sun has sunk behind the horizon completely, in that in-between stage of dusk and darkness; a gloaming that is _breathtaking_ this high up in elevation, bathing the area in soft blues. This cloudless twilight with stars slowly twinkling into existence is only enhanced when Eskel quietly sneaks back to Jaskier where he is sat on the ground close to where they had originally started the night. He is _infinitely_ pleased to see that not only is Eskel still wearing the chain, but he is balancing plates of food in a sure grip with the handles of two tankards of ale in the other hand. Tired and sweaty and _pleased_ beyond belief that Eskel is in a good mood judging by the softened smile on his face.

“You found me first! I _was_ going to find you as soon as I caught my breath. And how did you know I’m _starving_?” Jaskier is unsurprised that Eskel sits to his right after handing him a plate and stein.

“Because we haven’t eaten since just after dawn,” Eskel says with an amused sigh and slight shake of his head at the obvious. “I could hear your stomach rumbling from across the village.”

Jaskier sticks his tongue out at him for his _nerve_.

They are far enough away from most people now that Jaskier can enjoy the darkening of the sky while he eats alongside Eskel, feeling lighter and happier than he has in a _long_ time. He can’t imagine that certain other people would so thoroughly indulge his desires to make witless merry, and Jaskier knows that he is lucky to have shared even this with a witcher. Especially as the townsfolk laugh and dance still at a distance in front of them, the music still going just as strongly (if a touch quavered for how most everyone has been drinking for a _while_ ).

“What did you get up to while I was prancing about?” An honest question, curious as to how he occupied himself.

Eskel grins, jingling the coin pouch at his hip. “Found some of the men playing gwent in the back of the tavern who invited me to join in. Won myself a few pretty cards and some coin for it, didn’t even get accused of cheating. Made enough to get my armor repaired and a better steel sword since mine was nearly at the end of it’s life. Another well placed strike and it might have shattered in battle.” 

“That’s wonderful!” And Jaskier means it, looking to the side to give Eskel a smile. The silver sword is most important, but the steel sword _absolutely_ sees enough use to have to do just as stringent upkeep on the blade. A weakened sword could mean death, and well, Jaskier is not ready to say goodbye to a single one of his witchers. Least of all his newest one that he is rapidly growing attached to.

The sky darkens further as the last dredges of the red and yellowed horizon turn to light blue and then into the speckled obscurity of night; Jaskier finishes his meal and wipes his hands in the grass after putting his plate down. The sky goes completely dark by the time Jaskier finishes nursing his ale too, and the empty tankard gets snatched up by Eskel the moment it's placed down. He mutters that he’ll be back, so Jaskier lays down in the grass on the slight incline, looking up at the bright shine of the stars framed by a moon that is so close to being new that it barely makes a difference in the sky. 

He does close his eyes to better take in the sounds of mirth turning into public drunkenness as the youngest children start getting shuffled home and to bed knowing this will go on late into the night. Any excuse to drink and flirt after dark for happy people is reason enough to be in a good mood, an infectious sense of bliss overtaking him for being able to have a night of relaxation. It is a little while before Eskel returns, but he hears the crunch of boots on soft grass and opens his eyes to see that the wolf has rejoined him. Two full steins in one hand as he sits on the grass again next to him, though Jaskier stays laying for the moment after he accepts his refill, holding the handle and resting the vessel on the ground.

“You are _spoiling_ me tonight, sir witcher.” Eskel snorts beside him, lifting his ale to his mouth while Jaskier continues, “What?! You let me bully you into stopping here, you didn't complain that I spent hours dancing around, nor have you torn off the flower chain that I put on you. _And_ you’re keeping me fed and watered with your own coin. I fear you may never be rid of me if you keep indulging my vagaries, darling.”

“I have no control over what you do, Jaskier,” is the carefully measured response after a few moments.

“We are both our own people, yes, and I know that I am close enough to Yspaden that if you wanted to leave me here, you could.” Sitting up with a soft grunt for the effort, Jaskier finally takes a drink while he settles in closer to Eskel’s side, leaning against him. “Yet here you are, having found your own entertainment while my gamboling has possibly embarrassed your rough and tumble reputation…” A joke, of course, since nothing negative has happened, and Eskel has not mentioned any rebukes.

“Oh _no_ , how will I _ever_ recover my reputation now?” Deadpanned, but Jaskier laughs loud, linking their arms together to lean more into him. “You say I'm spoiling you, but you have spoiled _me_ , paying for inn rooms, finding baths for me, making sure I am rested. No wonder Geralt talks about you during winters if this is the treatment he gets from you.”

“Oh, so he does talk about me?” Warmth spreads in his chest, knowing now for sure that his friend isn't so stingy with his praises. 

“More than about others he meets on the path, at least.” 

“Good things?”

“Only the _worst_ ,” Eskel says, nudging Jaskier in the side gently with the arm that's being held hostage. 

Looking over, he can see the smirk on his face, and Jaskier shakes him by the arm. “You brute! Don't lie to me!” 

Holding up his free hand and the stein he is holding in mock surrender, Eskel says, “And now I’ll only have good things to say to even out his terrible stories.”

“Good,” Jaskier huffs, squeezing Eskel’s arm in faux-indignation. “Even you deserve time to rest and relax, and what better place than here, where I can make a drunken fool of myself for your own personal amusement.” Jaskier takes a moment to down the rest of his drink all at once, perhaps a _terrible_ idea since this drink _definitely_ is stronger than the first round of ale Eskel had brought him. But that is a problem for some future point in time that is not this moment for a future version of himself to deal with.

“For my own personal amusement?” Eskel echoes back at him. 

“Yes, for your personal amusement. Finish your drink.” A light command that has Eskel raising a brow again at him, but it’s an order followed, Jaskier watching as the empty cup is put on the ground next to dishes that will be found later by a towns-person, no doubt. With that settled, Jaskier stands up, beckoning Eskel up with him by keeping hold of his arm, delighted when the witcher makes no fuss about it. They are far enough away from most people in the first place that he has full confidence that nobody will miss their continued and obscured absence when Jaskier leads Eskel a little further out past the field that the festivities are being held in. They end up going down a short hill for a touch more privacy, or at least, Jaskier imagines they will be left alone.

He only stumbles a _little_ in the dark, glad to be holding onto his solid, surefooted witcher friend. Not that he thinks that Eskel would let him fall, but it’s still nice that Eskel’s arm is there to steady him. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit back down?”

“Absolutely not, you should know I’m stubborn, and I will do whatever I can to try and get my way,” Jaskier says as he stops when they far enough away that nobody will be able to see them but themselves but still close enough to hear the music that is getting more rambunctious. Eskel stops with him, confused when Jaskier moves to face him. “And I was serious earlier, I _always_ am. I would like if you joined me for a dance.”

He can hear Eskel’s breath hitch just barely again, and he is sure if he were more drunk, he would be kissing the witcher already. That urge grows the moment Jaskier feels more than sees Eskel’s other hand come up to place something upon his own head, less gently than perhaps intended, speaking of the seeming impulsiveness of the decision. The shock of it outweighs the awkwardness, Jaskier finally letting Eskel go so he can reach up and touch the crown that’s been placed on his head. He doesn’t know what the flowers are, nor is he about to ask and break the moment of pure _joy_ he feels at the gift. 

The music is meant to be lively, and Jaskier’s intent _had_ been to make a jester of himself, but now he feels foolish in a _much_ different way. To have a beating heart that thumps expeditiously is a distinct feeling, as is to want to throw his arms around Eskel’s neck and pull him down to the grass right here and have his way with him. The sweetness of the gesture makes him _ache_ to show his appreciation for how kind Eskel is. He knows the wolf’s vision is much better than his own in the dark, knows he can see the beaming smile on his face just as well as the flushed skin of his cheeks. 

“Don’t know how.”

“I don’t care,” immediate, unrelenting.

“Hmm.”

A classic witcher noise that reminds him of someone else, but that someone else would _never_ allow themselves to have their hands guided to rest on his waist like Jaskier does to Eskel’. Hiss arms sneak up to Eskel’s shoulders, careful of the garland that has gotten a little rumpled with the day, but not wanting to damage it further. “Dancing can just be a little bit of swaying.” He can feel the buzz from the alcohol, and the most foolish part of himself doesn’t deny the urge to wrap his arms fully around Eskel’s neck, finally. It’s easy enough of a posture to keep since they are nearly the same height, Jaskier just a little bit shorter, but he cares more about how Eskel’s hands feel so warm on him.

The night is chilly, higher up now than they had been at the start of the day, and further north. The difference isn’t drastic from the past few nights, but the cool breeze filtering through the trees where the highland breaks off into the woods is enough to make him shiver. Eskel’s arms slide around Jaskier then, pulling him closer while they sway together to some beat that is not in time with the music. It’s Jaskier’s turn to draw a quiet breath in quick, and really, he is coming up short with reasons why kissing Eskel would be a bad idea.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather go dance with people who know how, bard?” The question is a quiet rumble in Eskel’s chest, Jaskier feeling it in his own for how they’re pressed together.

“I’m right where I want to be, Eskel.”

His companion falters for a moment, and Jaskier thinks he’s gone too far in using his witcher’s name in his soft declaration, but _oh_ Eskel’s lips feel perfect so suddenly on his. Jaskier can feel his legs wilting, held up only by sheer willpower alone to not melt completely. Eskel’s lips are wind-blown and rough, and Jaskier has never experienced a kiss so divine in its simplicity. He doesn’t look away when he reaches to Eskel’s cheek to smooth his thumb just over the bottom-most scar, gripping the witcher’s hair with his other hand to move his head into a better position. 

Jaskier’s mouth opens into it at the _precise_ moment there is a prolonged, elated squeal close enough to where they are that he jumps back with a shocked laugh. An extremely unwanted interruption, but he is still tipsy enough to laugh himself half into hysterics, pushing his face into Eskel’s chest while he does so. His arms wrap back around Eskel’s neck as he collapses with his mirth, and Jaskier will be sorry later that he has crushed the chain of flowers he had given to him.

It’s not even _funny_ , but the tender moment is broken only to become _fun_ , the realization hitting immediately that the latent attraction and underlying tension that has been simmering between them for days is not unrequited. “ _Melitele_ , tell me you’re going to kiss me again, sweet wolf, or I will do it for you.”

His shoulders are still shaking with laughter when Eskel pulls away from where Jaskier has crushed himself to him, leaning in again for another kiss just after and stilling him with his hands. This one is _much_ better, Jaskier moaning quietly into Eskel’s mouth when he opens his own. The shrieking laughter in the village is a little less close now, but the mood is no less infectious even if he’s not _laughing_. Jaskier’s hands drop instead to Eskel’s waist, tugging at the edge of his shirt just to fist his hands in the fabric and keep himself grounded.

There is a drum beat that starts pounding louder in the distance, clearly something a little more coordinated starting up that more people sing and clap along to with a cadence that matches Jaskier’s kiss. It feels jubilant, every sense coming together to inspire a well of need inside of him that feels just short of being fulfilled. When he pulls back, panting against Eskel’s lips for a moment, even in the low light he can see how affected Eskel is. He can _feel_ it against his hip, and isn’t _that_ exactly what Jaskier wants right now.

“Going to fuck me, wolf?” _That_ does it, Eskel growling low in his throat, grabbing Jaskier’s hips with intent. The inn is too far for his tastes right now, but Jaskier moves his feet backwards toward the village, trusting Eskel to steer them while he works on breaking out of his grasp. He holds Eskel by the hands as he walks four steps in that direction before he stumbles, laughing again when he almost falls completely because of a rock under his heel. 

“Not if you trip and break your skull open.”

Jaskier thinks better of it all, realizing they are _perfectly_ far enough away from the excitement of the nighttime festivities that, well, right here is _fine_. Well, not exactly here, Jaskier looks around the area and instead starts walking toward a small dip in the highland field, dragging Eskel by one hand. Only when Jaskier has him laying against the gentle slope with his knees pulled up does the bard drop himself atop him, straddling Eskel’s hips while he kisses him again. 

They are quick to touch each other, Jaskier pushing Eskel’s shirt up so he can finally, finally, _finally_ touch him. One glimpse of him without his shirt on during their last stay at an inn where he had ordered Eskel a proper bath, and Jaskier hasn’t stopped thinking of it for _days_. He feels _alive_ , and happy, and all sorts of lighthearted to hear Eskel groan, to feel it against his lips and on his tongue. Eskel kisses back with the same energy behind it, not in a rush and enjoying himself all the same, at least Jaskier is _hoping_ based on how large hands are squeezing his ass through his trousers to pull him closer. Jaskier doesn’t really care that his hands end up a little bit crushed for it, simultaneously pushing himself back into the touch and pressing closer to Eskel’s mouth with his own. When he pulls back, Jaskier can feel his blood rushing in his ears, overjoyed in his zealous horniness that is making itself more apparent by how wet he is. 

Jaskier is a creature of libido and impatience, and he has been longing for a taste of Eskel for hours. For _days_. Really, he should get a commendation from the emperor himself for his legendary restraint.

“Hold on,” Jaskier says, standing up on legs that are a little shakier than expected because of the incline of the hill. Looking down to Eskel’s lap, he nods toward it and says, “Cock, out,” while casually taking one of his boots off and tossing it down to find later. Eskel’s hands are _much_ more steady as he works, slowly doing as asked. His witcher is staring up at him with eyes ablaze, a wildfire searing through Jaskier’s veins for the sight. “Fuck, you have _no_ right being this hot,” Jaskier says as his own fingers bumble about with getting his trousers pushed down, removing one leg so he can more freely do this.

In his politeness, Jaskier hadn’t so much as sneaked a peak of Eskel’s cock, but now that it has sprung free, the sight makes his mouth _water_. However, there is no _time_ to wax poetic about such a magnificent prick, Jaskier straddling Eskel again in his eagerness. Spitting in his own palm, Jaskier reaches back to slowly jerk Eskel off, though it _really_ isn’t necessary since he’s already hard. The pretty, _desperate_ little sound Eskel makes is immediately worth it, so he spends a few seconds on that until Jaskier is also feeling desperate, lining up and sinking down. The momentary, irritating drag of skin is gone by the time Jaskier sits down completely with a deep groan that ends on a high note.

They move together, the harsh feel of the belt buckle indenting into the skin of the back of his thigh keeping him grounded so he doesn’t finish early. Jaskier babbles about how big Eskel is, how good he feels in him, but he can’t stop wobbling until he puts his hands on the witcher’s shoulders. And he doesn’t stop quietly laughing every time his pace falters, at one point trying to match the raucous sound of the band in the distance starting up yet another exciting song with a lot of noise to it. 

He leans over suddenly, peppering kisses to Eskel’s jaw, up to his mouth where the curl of his scarred cupid’s bow drags across his own lip, pushing fire back into his veins. His coy, flirty pace gets more bold, pushing his hips back and changing the angle so each drag of Eskel’s cock in and out makes him want to sob. Crying out against his lips is all he can do, breathing hard against them when his strength starts failing.

When Jaskier is close, that’s when Eskel takes control of the pace, grabbing his hips tighter and fucking up into him at a more brutal pace. Jaskier kisses him again, a weak little thing for how he moans into Eskel’s slack lips. He can’t help sliding his tongue into Eskel’s mouth by the corner of his lips, past his teeth and drawing in a sharp breath when his wolf’s head turns to catch him in a messy kiss. Eskel growls into it, Jaskier shivers and keens when he can feel a rough thumb against his clit.

The most unfortunately timed _sour_ sounding and _very_ loud note from the distant troubadours announces itself over Jaskier’s wailing, cutting him off in the middle of what would have been a _spectacular_ orgasm if the damned unnatural note hadn’t been equal parts stupefying and _absolutely fucking hysterical_. Jaskier goes upright with the force of his laugh, hands flying to his stomach while his whole body is a riot of overstimulated sensation and emotion, and he would have fallen completely backwards if not for Eskel’s knees having been bent to keep them from slipping down the hill. His torso shakes with the force, snorting and guffawing so unattractively that it is any _wonder_ Eskel doesn’t toss him off.

Well, he does roll them over, Jaskier coming to rest on the ground on his back with Eskel atop him. His cock slips out, but the smile on Eskel’s face has Jaskier’s romantic nature flaring right back up alongside his hysterics. A better sight, Jaskier can’t say he’s ever seen. And he’s never felt anything so perfect as seeing the lust darkening Eskel’s beautiful eyes. The rumpled flower chain is hanging down enough that Jaskier has no trouble grabbing it as he says his apology, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean for that.”

“Gorgeous when you laugh, little lark.”

Jaskier’s heart stumbles on a few violent beats in his chest, but he is quick to catch up to himself, tugging on the flower chain and pulling Eskel down into a kiss that makes them both groan. He can feel Eskel’s hand reach down to line himself back up, pushing back into his cunt in one fluid motion that makes him _shake_. The mirth is replaced by another feeling that is hopeful and hurts at the same time; his witcher doesn’t know what he is saying, for a scrap of kindness will keep him coming back to warble outside his door. He must know better than to give him a compliment so freely, to say something that might make a songbird fall in love with a wolf.

It is a kindness a witcher cannot afford.

Bringing his hand up, he pushes his fingers through Eskel’s hair, holding his head close while he groans out, “ _Fuck me_.” Eskel doesn’t have to be told twice, Jaskier brought off within minutes, their hips pounding together with obscene, slick sounds. He keeps himself close to his witcher, whining in his ear with hot breaths between murmuring his praises into Eskel’s ear. Perfect, perfect, _perfect_ , incomparable. 

Jaskier must know better too than to hold Eskel like a lover, curling his legs around the backs of Eskel’s knees, his bare foot digging into the soft, dry grass. He _must_ know better, but nothing will keep him from enjoying this. Eskel grinds into him hard, and Jaskier can feel the pulsing of his cock before the witcher groans, “ _Jaskier_.”

It is the sweetest sound Jaskier has ever heard, the low little breathy noise that follows only enhancing it as Eskel empties himself deep inside Jaskier. He keeps going long enough to get Jaskier off again soon after, and then they are collapsing into a slightly sweaty heap together. There is some laughter in the distance, floating much more pleasantly in the air now that the heat is starting to dissipate from his body. Satisfied for now, but immediately realizing there is a rock digging _very_ uncomfortably into his kidney. 

Jaskier reaches underneath himself to try and move the offending rock away, but Eskel _laughs_ an unfairly attractive and rich laugh. “Calling my laugh gorgeous, do you _hear_ yourself darling? It’s _stunning_. Let me up so we can go get another drink... “ The immediate change of topic is purely his brain thinking too fast and blurting out everything at once.

“Are you sure you’re not already drunk?”

“Don’t dodge my compliments.” Jaskier reaches up to pull his face down so he can kiss him again, humming when Eskel’s cock slips out at the same time, feeling the gush of semen drop down over his ass and onto the grass. “I’m barely tipsy, wolf.” Narrowing his eyes at Eskel in mock irritation, he pats him on the cheek and says, “If you’d rather we go back to the inn though…”

They end up doing both after Jaskier gets his clothing righted (and after spending too much time trying to find where he has tossed his damned _boot_ to), first stopping for more ale to bring with them back to the inn. Jaskier orders a bath, and it gets delivered in time to stop him from pouncing on Eskel again prematurely. The flower chain gets tossed onto the table in the room, Jaskier’s crown made of buttercups, dandelions, cornflowers and stephanotis resting beside it.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @ [jennyloggins](https://jennyloggins.tumblr.com/) and on twitter at [slimejen](https://twitter.com/slimejen). feel free to come talk or say hi or yell at me or whatever!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [there are yellow flowers in your hair my dear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354346) by [rainbowshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes)




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